As if reading my hesitation, Cheslav takes another step back. Gives me some room.
“I have another deal for you, Billie,” he says. “A month. Five days wasn’t enough. A month is what I need to make you believe what I already know.”
Chapter Fifteen
So…
Less than fifteen minutes after declaring my intention to leave, I find myself agreeing to his month. We also decide to take off our masks. I’ve been isolating ever since my firm switched to remote work. And Cheslav assures me he has, too. He’s heard bad things about how long it takes athletes to recover from the virus, and he wants to be ready to go when hockey comes back.
So we both take off our barriers.
As soon as I see his lips, memories of how he used them all over my body pummel me.
His green eyes heat as if reading all my dirty thoughts. “We should seal our deal with kiss,” he suggests.
My entire body pulses. Once…twice…
But then I drag my thoughts away from that subject to say, “No sex. You’re way too good at that, and I don’t want it to influence our decision.”
“We’re way too good at that,” he corrects, placing his mask on a side table. “Do you think any other woman turns me into animal like you do?”
Yeah, it’s going to take me at least a month to get used to Cheslav’s intensity levels.
“Regardless. No sex,” I answer out loud.
His eyes darken, and he gives me a hooded up and down look. But in the end, he says, “Fine. No sex. Unless you change your mind.”
“I won’t,” I promise.
But the words don’t exactly sound firm. I had a way better “I got this” voice while advising clients who’d lost their livelihoods to COVID about the new July 15th deadline for their 2019 taxes.
Cheslav smirks. But if he’s thinking I’m full of it, he doesn’t say it out loud.
The doorbell rings, and Vlad appears with a paper takeout bag from the Maple Street Biscuit Company restaurant, one of my favorite Charleston restaurants.
Cheslav’s been asking me if I wanted to eat since he showed up on my doorstep. But I don’t realize how hungry I am until the smell of biscuits, bacon, and syrup hits my nose.
Cheslav and Vlad have a short conversation in Russian, and I guess there must have been instructions somewhere. After handing Cheslav the food, Vlad turns and goes right back out.
“Where’s he going?” I ask Cheslav when he takes me by the elbow.
“To retrieve a larger car,” Cheslav answers as he escorts me back into the kitchen. “We will go to my other place after we eat breakfast, and it is long drive.”
“Your other place?” I repeat.
His other place turns out to be a huge Mediterranean-style villa, sitting on the golden mile. I’d been up to Myrtle Beach for a couple of cheerleading events, but I’d never visited this particular stretch of beach. Mainly because there are no hotels on the golden mile, only million dollar plus, oceanfront homes.
“I can’t believe you own this place,” I say, my mind spinning as we walk out on to a second-floor balcony overlooking an Olympic sized swimming pool.
“Technically, my family owns it. We like to invest in real estate wherever we live. But I have stake in company. If I had chance to do it again, I would choose house in Hilton Head. This place is good for parties but not so much for family.”
“Oh, I think a family would get along just fine here,” I answer, looking out at the breath-taking Atlantic Ocean view. “So is that what you plan to do after you’re done with hockey? Join your family’s business?”
Cheslav sneers. “Most likely.”
“You don’t sound happy about it.”
“Were you happy about going into accounting after giving up cheerleading?” he asks.
“Actually, yes,” I answer with a little chuckle. “I did a lot of budgeting to help my mom stay ahead of the bills when I was growing up. And when the opportunity came to go back to school with my Princess South Carolina scholarship money, accounting felt like a natural fit. People laugh when I say this, but it has some of the same things going for it as cheerleading. Tax code and choreography have a lot in common. I like working with the numbers until they dance just like I want them too. And it’s beautiful when everything comes together to give our clients the outcome they want for life.”
Now Cheslav laughs. It’s the first time I’ve heard him do so, and I love how rich and resonant it sounds. “You make handling money sound so much more interesting than my financial manager.”
My eyes widen. “You have a financial manager?”
“Yes,” Cheslav answers carefully. “Why does this delight you?”
“You have no idea how many of my brother’s teammates don’t have someone managing their funds. Some of these guys make and waste millions of dollars a year. Truthfully, as a Black accountant, I’d eventually love to provide financial management services to more athletes. That’s one of the reasons I’m studying so hard to get my CPA.”
